Not My Son
by The Mouse Avenger
Summary: When Sheila DeLarge began hearing about the secret life her teenage son was leading, she didn't know what to think. After all, didn't a mother like Sheila always know her son? To be revised & reuploaded. Read & review, but no flames, please!


**NOT MY SON**

AUTHOR'S NOTES: All "Clockwork Orange" characters are property of Anthony Burgess & Stanley Kubrick, but the names of Alex's parents & everyone else belong to me.

Enjoy the story.

* * *

The familiar sound of Big Ben ringing 8:00 echoed through my ears as I made my way over to my son's room. As usual, the door had been padlocked, so I had to knock as I called out my darling boy's name. "It's past 8, son; you don't want to be late." In reply, Alex groggily told me that he had a pain in his head. "Just let me sleep it off," he said, "otherwise I'm liable to miss a lot more school." I knew it was often like Alex to want to stay home all day, but I was in no mood to argue, for I was still tired & had to go to work soon. I could only find the energy to bid my son "goodbye" & head over to the kitchen, where I could finish breakfast with my husband, Philip.

No sooner had I eaten the last of my bacon & eggs & grabbed the keys than I heard a knocking on the front door. When I went to answer it, I saw none other than our good old friend, Mr. Deltoid. "Hello, Mrs. DeLarge," he greeted, smiling broadly. "Is your son home? I'm desperately needing to see him...just for a visit, of course."

"He's asleep right now," I explained, "but you're welcome to come in & wait." Handing him the key, I said, "I'm sure Alex won't mind; he'll be delighted to see you after such a long time."

"Thank you, Sheila," Deltoid told me as he went upstairs to my room. "I do appreciate it." I bid "farewell", then put on my coat & went on my way to work.

* * *

The large factory I worked in was a loud, squalid, filthy place, where working conditions were no better than they had been during the days of the Industrial Revolution. I dreaded coming here every day (especially to make soup cans, a tedious job indeed), but I knew I had to; otherwise, I would not receive my pay & my dear husband & son would be forced to live with me in poverty.

As I put on my gloves & cap & went to work on the assembly line, I could see one of my coworkers, Rose, gazing at a newspaper & shaking her head sadly. "Oh, dear, dear, dear," she lamented, "the little vandals are at it again." Curious, I went over to Rose & took a look at the paper she was reading. I could see the text in the article clearly, & it said:

"Teen rogue Alex DeLarge evaded justice one again last night. After an old beggar (name not listed to protect privacy) complained of a severe beating he received from the young terror's gang, infamous leftist writer Frank Alexander was questioned shortly afterwards about the rape of his wife Catherine.

'I'll never forget the first words he said just before he barged into my house,' said Frank during a particular interview. 'He said specifically that there had been a terrible accident, his friend was lying in the middle of the road, bleeding to death, & he needed to use a telephone to call an ambulance...'"

My brain was racing with so many thoughts, mainly denial. It couldn't be true! It simply couldn't be my beloved son, the fruit of my womb, that Alexander was talking about! How could it be true, anyway? Alex has always been an honest boy to me; he always came back with his earnings after the night job he told me & Philip about constantly...it just couldn't be true.

Trying not to show my tears, I handed the newspaper back to my coworker, & exclaimed, "There _must _be some mistake, Rose! I _know _my son; he wouldn't do these things to people!"

"There's a lot about Alex you don't know, Sheila," Rose said, looking downcast. "For all we know, he may come into your room during the night &..." Having had enough of these lies, I burst into tears, collapsing onto the floor. All the while, my heart was blazing with rage & anguish. There was no way...they were tainting the truth...yes, it was all a great lie. After all, I knew my son. I knew him more than anything.


End file.
